


Surprising

by Imaginary_Bomb



Category: Kiesha'ra Series - Amelia Atwater-Rhodes
Genre: Canon Compliant, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, M/M, Post-Canon, Wolfcry, Wyvernhail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-28 19:05:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7653181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imaginary_Bomb/pseuds/Imaginary_Bomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliza has abdicated the throne and run off into the sunset with her wolf mate. She told her people that she believed in them and their capacity to understand and accept each other, to compromise and change and grow. And so, with little else left to them but her parting words, two of her previous suitors have found themselves making their way down this difficult road together - with surprising results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One: Marus

Marus flopped down onto the cushions. “I can’t believe it.”

Urban rolled his eyes from where he was stretching. “Mar, it’s been a week. The throne’s been abdicated, Salem’s officially Diente, and Oliza has run off into the sunset with her wolf mate. It’s time to move on.”

“I know, but…” He heaved a frustrated sigh. “Come on, can you believe it?”

Urban shrugged, stretching an arm over his head. “I admit it’s unexpected, but it’s not like it’s the most outrageous thing a monarch has ever done.” The previous Diente’s marriage came to mind.

“But it’s not just a monarch,” Marus argued. “It’s _Oliza_.”

Urban directed the glittering blue of his eyes at Marus. “So?”

“ _So_? That’s all you can say?”

Urban sighed and abandoned his stretches to sit beside the raven. “Look, you’re right. It _is_ Oliza. _So_ —hasn’t Oliza always been surprising? I mean, her entire existence is unbelievable.”

Marus ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, you have a point. I just… I don’t know. It… hurts, more than I was expecting. Oliza was… special.” He frowned, scrutinizing the dancer. “Are you really not upset at all?”

Urban ran his fingers over the delicate silk of his _melos_. “It’s not that. Of course I’m upset. Oliza was special to all of us. And I always thought if I lost out, it would be to someone with feathers, so her choosing a wolf was a definite blow.”

“And a _female_ wolf on top of it.”

That earned him a raised eyebrow. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Marus spluttered. “W-well, I mean, she had to choose an alistair, so…”

“Doesn’t mean it has to be male. I mean, you are aware that A’isha and Valene are…?”

Marus’s cheeks burned. “I am aware.”

Urban leaned back on his arms, not even trying to suppress his smirk. “Granted, most people expect their monarchs to choose someone they can have an heir with. I suppose that especially goes for people who pair their daughters off before they can even speak.”

Stiffly, Marus said, “It’s not as common as it used to be.” When it was revealed the heir to the Tuuli Thea would be a girl, and her parents would not be selecting an alistair for her, plenty of parents had held off choosing pair bonds for their sons.

Urban shrugged. “Like I was saying, of course I’m hurt. I cared for Oliza, and I really wanted her to choose me. But before anything, Oliza is my friend. If this is what she has to do, if Betia is who will make her happy, then I wish her well. It’d be too selfish to wallow in self-pity.” He gave Marus a pointed look.

Marus grumbled, picking at the hem of his borrowed pants. “Alright. You’re—alright.”

“What was that?” Urban leaned forward, cupping a hand behind his ear. “Did you say I’m right?”

Marus shoved him away. “Don’t push it, snake.”

Urban laughed, giving Marus a friendly shove back. “Alright, _bird_. Don’t get your feathers in a bunch.” He rolled to his feet. “Now, are you gonna finish your stretches or what?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Marus pushed himself up, taking his place beside Urban. He followed the languid bends of the python’s body, not able to ignore the way he still favored his left side. “How’s your leg?”

“Pretty good. The doctor says it’s healed well. Once I finish the assigned therapy, I should be able to dance again. _Finally_. I’ve never gone this long without dancing—it’s driving me out of my skin.”

Marus smiled. The serpent’s one track mind about dance was actually reassuring. Back when he was still bedridden, Marus had asked him what he would do if he couldn’t dance again. Urban had wrinkled his nose at him and said, “That is too depressing to even consider, Mar.” He’d only stopped giving Marus grief about his “terrible bedside manner” when he was allowed back on his feet. Marus didn’t miss the pained longing in his sapphire eyes as he watched his nestmates perform. Sometimes, Marus thought Urban loved dancing more than he loved Oliza.

But Marus knew that wasn’t fair. Urban loved Oliza, but dancing was his life. Marus had never quite appreciated that until his time in the nest. He thought maybe he was jealous that Urban had something to be so passionate about.

He had invited Marus to dance that fateful night as a challenge. But since Marus had come to stay in the nest, Urban had been genuinely earnest in his attempts to get the raven to shake off his reserve and pick up a _melos_. Marus had felt bad enough about Urban’s injury to let himself be talked into some experimental lessons. But while he’d learned to admire the art—Marus still thought nothing moved quite like serpents danced—he doubted he’d ever cultivate a skill for it himself.

Valene had done her best to instruct him. “Dancing is like flying,” she’d told him, as Urban nodded seriously over her shoulder. “It’s translating the grace you have in the sky to your movements on the ground. You must feel the way the music moves around you, the same way you feel the wind under your wings.” Marus supposed Valene was the expert on avian dancing, but it hadn’t been enough to shake the awkwardness from his limbs.

Surrounded by people raised in the nest, who danced as easy as they breathed, he felt painfully inadequate. The nest was not a place for judgement, in spite of the lighthearted teasing and flirting—and Marus was still getting used to _that_. But Marus could not make himself relax enough to mimic the smooth movements of the dancers.

Of course, his lackluster study of the craft was not enough to deter Urban from his goal of getting Marus to master a dance. “Just wait until I’m back on my feet,” he’d say, eyes burning bright with determination. “I’ll get you moving like a snake in no time.”

Marus took a seat with Urban, and A’isha and Valene ascended the dais for the first dance of the morning. Watching them take their positions, he wondered what his parents would have to say about that. About all of this. He tried not to think about his parents these days—every time, bitterness churned acidly in his gut. But every now and then, he couldn’t keep his thoughts from straying.

He’d seen the way they’d staunchly ignored him during Oliza’s announcement. His anger had carried him when he’d stormed from the house with Urban after they’d refused to listen. He didn’t regret it and didn’t think he was wrong. But seeing how easily they could abandon him—it hurt. Even more than Oliza’s leaving.

He could just imagine the looks on their faces if they’d heard Urban’s declaration of getting him to move like a snake. If they knew Marus wasn’t entirely opposed. If they knew where he’d willingly been living these last several weeks.

Urban nudged him, bringing him back to the music and heat of the nest. He shoved a plate of fruit, bread, and meat into Marus’s lap. “Here, eat.”

Urban displayed an uncanny ability of knowing when Marus’s thoughts turned morose. He’d understood Marus was not accustomed to sharing his private thoughts and hadn’t pressed as he might’ve with a serpiente nestmate. Instead, he’d taken to pushing food on Marus at every opportunity.

“You don’t eat enough,” he’d insisted when Marus raised his first objections.

“I eat plenty.”

“You eat enough to survive. You need to learn how to savor things.”

Marus was trying.

Still, the serpiente intuition regarding emotions could be frankly unnerving at times.

Watching A’isha and her raven mate move in complicated sways and twists on the dais, he was struck by a bout of worry. “How much longer can I stay here?” he blurted.

Urban glanced at him. His expression seemed almost serious for half a moment, before he smirked. “Well, you’ll have to improve your dancing for sure,” he teased, leaning against Marus’s shoulder. “As a matter of fact, I _insist_ you stay until—hmm, let’s say until you’re as good as me.”

Marus didn’t even try to restrain the grin spreading across his face. Urban definitely made it difficult to hold on to his worry. “In that case, I’m likely to be here for years.”

Urban shrugged, as if there were no way around it. “Then so be it. It’s not like you’re the only feathered nape in this nest.”

In spite of his flippancy, the dancer really had a way of getting to the heart of an issue. Marus turned his attention to Valene, stepping down from the dais, hand-in-hand with her viper pair bond, to applause from the nest. The avian scholar had been a part of the nest even before Wyvern’s Court was built; she danced as well as any snake. The Tuuli Thea herself was an accomplished pupil of A’isha’s and visited the nest often. And, of course, Oliza, with her captivating blade dances.

And, according to some sources, even Andreios of the Royal Flight had studied under A’isha for a time. Although, given serpiente habit of embellishment, Marus wasn’t sure how much he believed that.

Urban nudged him again and stole a piece of fruit from his plate. “Don’t worry, Mar. No one’s about to throw you onto the street.”

Marus rubbed his chin where the bruise had almost completely faded. “Some might like to,” he mused.

Urban waved his hand dismissively. “Serpents feel their anger deeply and are unskilled at hiding it. A slight against oneself can be forgiven; it’s harder to let pass a slight against your family. But they all know why you’re here, and no dancer can ignore such a daring gesture of loyalty made for one of their own.”

Marus looked at his lap, feeling his cheeks heat. “I wouldn’t call it daring,” he mumbled.

“You walked out on your parents because you couldn’t abide their prejudice against me. And even after they kicked you out, you didn’t back down. Considering how things have been lately, that stands for a lot.” He batted Marus with a _melos_. “Give yourself some credit, bird.”

“You came to apologize to me for what you said, even though I punched you first. And you still meant it, even after what happened. _That_ stands for a lot, too.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re a couple of regular revolutionaries.” He grinned at Marus and winked. “Oliza’s not the only one who gets to be progressive.”

Sometimes, Marus still felt out of his depth among the serpiente. Urban had gone to great lengths to make him feel comfortable and welcomed. But the culture gap was wide. As much as he’d become one of the nest, Marus had no idea what to do with the casual flirting Urban directed at him more and more.

Marus knew it wasn’t supposed to mean anything. Urban flirted with everyone. It was the accepted method of expressing affection and companionship. That Urban was comfortable enough to extend his flirting to Marus meant he considered Marus a friend. But no matter how often he reminded himself of this, Marus couldn’t keep himself from blushing.

Urban had held back when Marus first started coming by to visit, as if afraid he’d scare the raven off. But after the incident with Marus’s parents, and Urban had invited him to the nest, the python had clearly decided Marus was family enough to flirt with. Marus was flattered, in spite of himself, but he still had no idea how to respond; he didn’t have nearly enough confidence to reply in kind. Thankfully, Urban seemed to understand and didn’t take Marus’s awkward silence as a rebuff.

Urban grabbed his arm, hoisting Marus to his feet. “Come on, bird. Time for practice.”

Marus bit back his complaint and let Urban arrange his limbs into the appropriate positions. In spite of his doubts about his dancing ability, Marus had stopped trying to resist Urban’s efforts. When he was teaching Marus to dance, the python seemed to forget about his own impaired ability. Marus was hesitant to examine his deep concern over Urban’s feelings too closely. He figured if he couldn’t return Urban’s friendly flirting, he could at least accept the dancing instruction. Urban seemed to treat dance more seriously than flirting, in any case.

Marus gave himself an internal shake and forced himself to focus on Urban leading him through the steps. He was finding it harder and harder to dismiss Urban’s flirting—especially now that Oliza was gone. And wasn’t that baffling.

When Oliza had gone missing, Urban confessed to him what occurred between them shortly beforehand. It was during the time Urban was bedridden, and his restlessness took his thoughts into depressing territory. It was only because of the dancer’s genuine despair at his actions that kept Marus from his jealously.

“Do you really think Oliza left because you kissed her?” Marus had asked.

“No. I don’t know. Not really, I guess. But a part of me can’t help wondering…”

“No offense, but Oliza had some… bigger things going on. If there was anything that prompted her to leave…”

Urban dropped his head in his hands. “I know, and that’s just… it was so stupid. _Of course_ Oliza had more important things to worry about. And all I cared about was finding out how she _really_ felt about me. _Selfish_.”

“Look, if it bothers you so much, you can apologize when she gets back. And you can find out what _really_ made her leave.”

Marus had not yet grown used to the naked emotion Urban allowed on his face—so different from the avians he spent his time with. “You really think she’ll come back?”

“Of course.”

“But… there was the letter…”

Marus had considered his words carefully. “All I know is that Oliza cares about Wyvern’s Court more than anything. Running away without telling anyone? Leaving only a letter behind? That’s not the Oliza we know; she’s never been the kind of leader to shy away from her people. I hate to think of Oliza being in danger, but she wouldn’t have left if there wasn’t something really wrong.”

Urban was silent for a long moment, before pushing back his hair and releasing a long breath. “When Oliza gets back, I don’t think she’s going to choose a mate.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Dancer’s intuition,” Urban stated.

“But she has to.”

Urban scoffed, grumbling under his breath. “ _Has to_.”

Marus pressed his lips together. “I know your feelings on politics in pair bonds, but Oliza has her responsibility has a monarch.”

“I know.” His jeweled eyes bored into Marus’s. “Do you?”

Marus hadn’t understood the question then, but now, after everything, he thought maybe he did. Oliza’s rejection hurt, but he supposed it wasn’t unexpected. At the very least, he’d never doubt Urban’s “dancer’s intuition” again.

A sharp flick to the forehead brought him back to the present. “Ow! What?” he glared at the serpent in front of him.

“Pay attention,” Urban snapped. “At this rate, you won’t learn to dance until I’m old and gray. You’ll have to perform for me on my deathbed. And I’ll probably still be better than you.”

Marus huffed, but followed Urban’s instruction. “You know, there are some things people just can’t learn.”

Urban’s eyes glowed at the challenge. “Don’t underestimate me, Mar. Here—you’re mixing up the steps.”

He stepped behind Marus, one hand on the raven’s waist and the other taking his hand. Marus’s heart fluttered, and he knew fighting back his blush was a losing battle. He could dismiss flirting as just friendly affection, but nothing was ever ‘just’ about dancing for Urban. Not for the first time, Marus had to wonder, what did it mean that Urban continued to teach him, with the challenge for Oliza’s hand moot?

Was it desire to share his passion with anyone willing? Because he liked to see Marus flustered? For the challenge? Or something more? Was it for the same reason Marus continued to _let_ himself be taught? Regardless, Urban’s hand on his waist felt almost unbearably hot, despite the serpent’s cold blood.

He tried to ignore Urban’s breath on his neck and focus on getting his steps right. It didn’t help knowing all the eyes that were surely watching; Urban’s attempts to instruct him had been a source of great entertainment for the nest. He swallowed and kept his gaze firmly on his feet.

Urban’s smooth voice whispered in his ear. “If you look too hard at your feet, you’ll forget to move the rest of your body.”

“Right,” he managed, mouth dry. “I think I got it.”

Urban pulled away—finally—but his hand lingered a moment on Marus’s hip in a soft caress. The python stepped back in front of Marus, eyes bright and hot. The borrowed dancer’s clothes Marus wore were far more revealing than what he usually donned, and he couldn’t tell if the way Urban’s eyes trailed over his body was simply observation of his movements or hungry appreciation.

The only thing Marus was sure of was that he was far too preoccupied with the dark curve of Urban’s neck.

As he got into position, Sive’s words came, unbidden, to mind: “ _I imagine it is difficult to court a lady if there is nothing romantic and daring left to do_.” Well, Urban wasn’t a lady, but he had called Marus’s confrontation with his parents daring. Did dancing count as romantic? Urban had offered to dance for Oliza before, after all. Not that Marus would ever be accomplished enough to _perform_.

Still. Marus glanced at Urban beneath his lashes, and the dancer gave him a cheeky grin. Urban’s declaration to make him move like snake had been terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure. Urban was serpiente—surely if there was… interest, Marus would not have to make the first move.

_Romantic and daring_. The prospect of _that_ was, too, terrifying and exhilarating. Even the thought of his parents’ reaction was not enough to keep his heart from jumping.

He took a deep breath and pulled his focus back to the movements Urban was showing him. Maybe he had no idea what to do, but for now, Marus could at least dance.


	2. Part Two: Urban

Urban stared blankly at the tapestries that hung from the nest ceiling. “I can’t believe it.”

Marus looked down at him, hands resting on his hips. “It’s been a week,” he said, tone carefully neutral. “Might be time to move on.”

Nothing rankled Urban like that avian superiority—and Marus was an expert on it. “Okay, listen, bird. Oliza abdicating the throne and running off with Betia was scandalous, sure. But it was also brave and self-sacrificing and romantic, and serpents _live_ off that kind of drama. All of this—magic and falcons and assassinations and people coming back from the dead—it’s all over my head! It’s too much!”

Urban could see Marus working to keep his features schooled. Urban thought if he put as much effort into his dancing as he did into stepping around his emotions, he wouldn’t still be hobbling around the dais like a newborn chick. Feeling spiteful, he kicked Marus’s leg, sending him tumbling to the floor. The other dancers looked on in amusement; nothing quite entertained like Urban and his avian playmate.

Marus smacked Urban with a beaded pillow, heedless of the eyes watching them. “You blasted snake! You want me to break your other leg?”

The outburst made Urban feel better, and he didn’t bother to retaliate. He tried to respect Marus’s boundaries, but sometimes he just couldn’t stand the avian’s habit of repressing his emotions. He’d loosened up after weeks of living in the nest, but changing a behavior instilled since birth wasn’t so simple.

As if on cue, Marus seemed to remember their perpetual audience. He set about smoothing his hair and straightening his shirt.

The shirt that he was presently borrowing from Salem. Since coming to the nest with only a single outfit to his name, Marus had been clothed in a mismatch of articles donated by the dancers. After the scuffle that led to Marus being punched, Salem made a point of being friendly with the raven and lending his personal belongings. The silver embroidery along the collar clearly marked the shirt as Cobriana owned. With the wrath of the new Diente behind him, Marus hadn’t gotten any more trouble.

Urban waited as Marus fussed over his appearance, chin propped in his hand. His eyes traced the sloping collar that did nothing to conceal the sculpted lines of Marus’s neck and chest. Dancer garb was meant to be loose, flowing and revealing at the wearer’s whim. Marus had fumbled over the hems and tassels at first, but he’d soon recovered his dignity and now moved as elegantly as if he’d worn dancer silks all his life.

The vibrant colors complimented his bronze complexion, and the flowing lines meant to accentuate the body’s movements suited his figure well. Avian men were not quite as broad-chested as the serpiente. But time in the nest had filled Marus out, and the muscles of his shoulders were formed to perfection. Marus’s bedside manner may have been lacking, but the sight he presented was certainly not one Urban complained about.

Smirking, Urban leaned into Marus’s space, causing him to blink in surprise. For all his time around snakes, it was still too easy to catch the raven off-guard. “You won’t hurt me,” Urban crooned.

Brown eyes narrowed at him. “You sound very sure about that.”

Urban dropped his voice low and smooth. “Because if you did hurt me, I wouldn’t be able to dazzle you with my enchanting dance.” With one finger, he traced up the inside of Marus’s forearm.

It was one of dozens of flirtations Urban had performed, but it set the raven’s face adorably aflame. He jumped away, as if distance would preserve his virtue, and coughed, trying to regain his equilibrium. “I… think I need some air.” And with that, he promptly fled the nest.

Urban could barely contain his laughter as he pushed to his feet. Valene had as much modesty as any serpiente dancer, and the Tuuli Thea and Oliza were too comfortable around snakes to be ruffled by a little flirting. But Marus still maintained enough avian decorum that a few whispered innuendos were enough to get an entertaining reaction. Still, Urban knew if he didn’t go after Marus now to smooth his feathers, the bird could hold a grudge as well as any snake.

Rosalind intercepted him on his way out. “Don’t tease your avian friend too much. Their sensibilities aren’t serpiente.” She said it kindly, but it unsettled Urban’s good mood all the same. Rosalind had been distraught in the wake of the attempt on Salem’s life and the mess of Oliza’s would-be coronation as Diente, so it was good to see her back to her old self, as if she’d never lost a step.

But Oliza’s words still echoed in his dreams, begging her people to learn from each other and trust each other; to stop turning their backs on their differences; to look beyond the surface and try to _understand_ each other. Urban had been to see the boys who’d attacked him, had heard the reasoning for what they’d done. When he walked the northern hills, he looked at avian artistry with a new appreciation; he stopped yawning and wishing for time to pass when Marus talked about avian tradition. Urban hoped it was a start.

Marus had looked at him with muted shock, almost too horrified to speak, when Urban revealed where he was spending his mornings. “Of course that’s a problem, but how is assaulting an innocent person any kind of solution?”

“I’m not saying I forgive them, but isn’t this what Oliza wanted us to do?” Before Marus could argue, Urban had pressed on. “Look, I went to confront them, and not one of them was apologetic—at first. But when I listened to them, and I asked Valene to teach me about avian culture alongside them, that was when they started looking guilty.”

He shook his head. “It wasn’t until I showed them consideration as people that they started thinking of me as a person. Oliza was right. We’re different, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t even try to understand each other.”

Marus hadn’t said anything else, but he looked at Urban with a strange kind of respect.

Rosalind was right—Marus wasn’t serpiente. But Urban didn’t want him to be. Even as an avian gentleman and serpiente dancer, they’d managed to make a friendship work by respecting each other and not shying from their cultural differences. It hadn’t been easy, but not even Oliza expected it to be.

For now, he smiled and flipped his _melos_ at her. “Thanks for the concern, Ros. But I gotta hurry, ‘cause right now, that avian is waiting on me.”

Just as Urban predicted, Marus was standing not far off from the nest entrance. Browsing the wares at a merchant’s cart, he stalled long enough for Urban to catch up. The python grinned and flung his arm around the raven’s shoulders. Marus didn’t need to be serpiente for Urban to understand him.

“What are you doing?” Marus huffed, clearly waiting to be placated.

Urban was happy to oblige. “Thought I’d join you. I’m still enjoying the novelty of being able to _walk_ places.”

Marus’s expression darkened for a sliver of a moment before he smiled. “And when that wears off, you’ll be back to prancing everywhere, like usual.”

Urban affected a pout, but didn’t take back his arm. Urban could have walked like this with any nestmate without thinking anything of it. But that Marus was comfortable enough with him to allow lingering touches is what made it special.

They passed Salem entertaining a crowd of serpiente. Many of them still had trouble believing what had happened, and Salem spent countless hours amongst his people, trying to calm their worries and answer questions. There had been no small concern about how well Salem could rule, but during his short time as Diente, he’d already proven himself more than capable.

Watching him, Urban mourned his lack of presence at the nest. But Oliza—and now the falcon—had insisted this was best. “It would’ve been nice to have Oliza back,” he mused aloud. “But not like that. I’m glad Salem’s alive to rule.”

Marus pulled away from him, and Urban tried not to feel bereft. “I spoke to Nicias,” he said, leading them up the winding path to a hill overlooking the market’s center. “Apparently, Hai had no desire to usurp the throne. He’s gone to great lengths to convince people that everything she did was for the sake of Wyvern’s Court. I guess there’s some reason Oliza _can’t_ rule.”

Urban wrinkled his nose. “Let me guess—that reason has to do with magic.”

“Well, he didn’t elaborate, so I figured that much.”

“Ugh.” Urban dropped to the grass, stretching out in the sun. Falcons, magic—it was all over his head. He’d leave that stuff to the people in charge. “Well, it’s good that she didn’t abandon her promise to her mate, at least.”

Marus hummed and took his seat beside Urban with more grace. Urban saw his attention drawn to some goings-on in the northern hills. Craning his neck, Urban saw it was setting up for something.

He nudged Marus. “What’s that? Another Festival?”

Marus gave him a long-suffering look. “There is only one Festival. Which your studies with Valene should have taught you.”

Urban grinned crookedly, telling Marus he knew exactly what he was asking.

The raven huffed. “It’s a celebration for Alasdair’s birthday. It’s generally not as lively as Festival, but the artists and musicians are a sight to see. Most of the royal house will probably be there.”

“Hmmm. I’ve never danced to avian music before, but it’s not so bad. I might like to give it a try.”

The look on Marus’s face was enough to send Urban into a fit of laughter. “Relax, Mar,” he said, ruffling the raven’s hair. “I _just_ got my legs back; I’m not about to do any dancing in the northern markets, no matter how good the music is.” He crossed his arms behind his head, admiring Marus’s disgruntled profile. “Will you be going?”

Marus’s lips thinned as he turned back to the market. “Perhaps.”

Urban frowned. Something was clearly bothering him. Before Urban could decide how to approach the matter, Marus turned to him. Urban was surprise to see hesitancy in his eyes.

“If I went, would you… go with me?”

Urban raised his eyebrows. “Isn’t that what I was just saying?”

Marus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sometimes, I have no idea what you’re ‘just saying’.”

“What?”

Marus shook his head, eyes directed to the sky, before turning back and leaning over the python. The sun haloed behind his head as strands of dark hair fell around his face. The borrowed shirt gaped almost obscenely. Urban felt distinctly short of breath.

“What?” he whispered.

Marus was now much closer than his avian sense of decorum usually allowed. Urban had always thought birds smelled musty, but Marus’s scent that swirled around him now was anything but—the sweet pomegranate perfume Salem favored, the sharp salt of sweat from their earlier dance lesson, and underneath it all, something rich and earthy. His breath ghosted over Urban’s cheek.

Gods, his senses were in a riot. He knew he should probably be doing something about this, but there was heat all around him. Not like sunlight—a living heat. The nest was always kept warm, but that was nothing compared to this. Marus radiated heat, the thrum of his rapid avian heartbeat like drums in Urban’s ears.

“What’s—” _happening?_ He didn’t get the chance to ask, because now Marus’s lips were on his, and Urban was pretty sure he wanted to do nothing but this for the rest of his life.

Except there was something—something he was forgetting. Something preventing him from properly enjoying kissing Marus. _That was it_. Marus. This was _Marus_ he was kissing.

His fist curled into the silk of Marus’s shirt—the shirt that was a little too big but fit him _so well_ —and pushed, forcing space between them. He gulped deep breaths of air, trying to remember what he meant to do. “Your parents—” he managed.

Marus recoiled at that, features strained. The space wasn’t enough; Urban burned from the heat.

“Your parents—” he said again. There was a reason he was saying this. “You—you still have a chance. To make up with them. If you do this—” His grip twisted, creasing the silk in his fingers, and he forced himself to let go. “If you do this, there’s no going back.”

Marus’s expression smoothed, face blank, emotions shuttered. _Avian reserve_. Urban wanted to shake him but knew that wouldn’t help either of them.

“My parents… will either get over their prejudice, or they won’t. They’re ex-soldiers, set in their ways. There’s nothing more I can say that’ll change their minds. Besides, if they wouldn’t… approve of this, then their approval doesn’t really matter.”

The words stepped slickly off his tongue, but Urban had spent enough time around the raven to know he was lying. His parents’ approval _did_ matter to him—he just wasn’t going to let the lack of it stop him. Urban exhaled a shaky breath, feeling the weight of what that implied.

Urban realized Marus was still watching him. Apprehension and fear had crept into his eyes, and Urban realized Marus was _waiting_. He cleared his throat, searching for something to say. “S-since when are you the one to be making the first big gesture?”

Shock crossed Marus’s features first, followed by relief, then quickly, huffy condescension. “Well, I was getting tired of waiting on _you_ to pick up my hints. You’re the serpiente here—why don’t you act like it?”

 _That_ rankled. “Your hints?” Forgetting propriety, Urban did exactly what Marus demanded. He took the raven’s shoulders and promptly flipped their positions. His reward was an explosion of red across Marus’s defined features. Urban didn’t think he’d ever seen a blush quite so impressive, but Marus didn’t seem intent on retracting his statement, so Urban let himself sprawl comfortably across the raven’s form.

It was hardly the most intimate position Urban had ever been in, but he’d never let himself be so liberal in his physical affection toward Marus. But Marus was right—he _was_ the serpiente in this situation. Physical affection was his specialty.

He smirked, propping his chin on a hand, letting the ends of his long hair tickle Marus’s face. “So,” his voice lilted, “was it worth waiting for?”

Maris grimaced, his face still as red as Urban’s _melos_. “You are utterly infuriating. This is not what I meant at all.”

Urban raised his eyebrows. “You were saying something about hints?”

“The problem with snakes,” Marus practically growled, “is that if you flirt every other second, how is someone supposed to know when you’re actually interested?”

Urban shrugged. “Usually, we dance.”

Marus sagged, looking defeated. “Haven’t I been dancing for you?”

Urban scrutinized his fingernails and tried not to think too hard about being pressed toe-to-chest with the raven. “You only danced because you felt bad about my leg.” Not that Urban had hesitated to use that to his advantage, but that wasn’t the point.

Marus pursed his lips. “Maybe at first,” he admitted. “But now your leg’s healed, and I’m still dancing. And I’ve been letting you… put your hands all over me.”

Urban considered remarking that there were plenty of places his hands _hadn’t_ been, but— “You’ve been doing that since before Oliza left. Not a very reliable _hint_.”

“So like I _said_ , how is someone supposed to tell—”

“And _I_ said” —Urban leaned close, letting their noses brush, voice dropping to a whisper— “by dancing.”

Marus’s pulse was a frantic strum against his own. His face still adorably flushed, he practically glowed with heat. Between gritted teeth, he said, “What. Dances?”

“There are different ones. But the best one for getting the point across is the _harja_.” Marus frowned, and Urban elaborated, “The dance Rosalind did for Salem that night of Festival.” The one he had teased Marus for imagining Oliza doing.

He saw the recognition dawn on Marus’s face, followed by his blush somehow reddening further. Urban wondered if he should be concerned—all that blood in his head couldn’t be healthy.

“I think that’s a bit beyond my ability,” Marus finally said, only a little strangled.

“Hmm, true.” Urban pretended to consider this, chewing on his thumb. He noticed Marus’s eyes drawn to his mouth and smirked. “How about this? Tonight, we’ll go out to your Alasdair’s birthday celebration. And after, we’ll come back to the nest, and I’ll perform a _harja_ for you.”

Marus’s eyes snapped up to his, throat convulsing as he swallowed thickly. Urban trailed a finger, feather-light, along the curve of his Adam’s apple. Marus’s breath came in shallow pants, but with his body trapped between Urban and the grass, he couldn’t jump away this time.

“And since you’ll be staying at the nest until you dance as good as I do, once you’ve obtained the skill, you can dance the _harja_ for me. On the dais. In front of the market.”

At that, the blood quickly drained from Marus’s face. His mouth opened and closed, but made no sound. Urban could see the thoughts racing desperately through the raven’s head.

Urban hummed and reached up to play with Marus’s bangs. “If you don’t dance, how am I supposed to know you’re serious? I’m serpiente, after all; your refined avian courting won’t work for me.”

Marus was still for a moment. Then he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, as if steeling himself. When he opened his eyes, they were determined. “Okay. I’ll dance for you. But in exchange, _you_ have to woo _me_ with that ‘refined avian courting’.”

Urban arched an eyebrow. “Woo you?”

Marus lifted his chin, like he always did when he was resolute about something. “How else am I supposed to know you’re serious? I’m avian, after all; your dancing won’t be enough for me.”

“Hmmm.” Urban tapped his fingers against Marus’s collarbone as he pretended to weigh the options. “Alright,” he finally said. “That’s fair. You learn the _harja_ and perform for me, and I’ll court you like an avian alistair.”

“Deal.”

Deciding he could start the wooing at any time, for the moment, Urban would stick with the request to act serpiente and seal the deal how he was taught. He leaned down and kissed Marus. Oliza wasn’t the only one who got to be surprising.

**Author's Note:**

> I am my own beta, so any errors are mine. By all means, point them out so I can fix them. If you enjoyed this fic, please leave kudos and/or a comment. Thanks for reading.


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